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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26216023">The New Normal</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/justmagnusbane/pseuds/justmagnusbane'>justmagnusbane</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shameless (US)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>AU, Alternate Universe, Angst, Anonymous Messages, Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, M/M, Mentions of graphic violence, Mutant Powers, Romance, Slow Burn, Slurs, mentions of child abuse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:21:44</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,783</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26216023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/justmagnusbane/pseuds/justmagnusbane</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"Maybe if Ian had just spelt it right the first time, the stranger wouldn't have had to correct it. After all, having a spray paint mural behind his shop might be one thing, but having a MISSPELT spray paint mural was another."</p><p> </p><p>It was common knowledge that mutants were out there somewhere; freaks of nature that defied all scientific understanding and possessed abnormal and violent powers. They weren’t common and for that reason, there was little tolerance for them. If being a gay South Sider was hard, being a mutant was even harder. At least Ian had that wall; filled with messages to and from an anonymous stranger.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Like Every Other Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This is my first long-form Ian and Mickey story. It's an AU set in a world with mutants, but I'm trying to make it mostly grounded. So yes, the powers and AU aspect will be a big part of the story, but first and foremost its a love story. Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p> </p><p>“Burger and fries?”</p><p>“Right here, thanks.”</p><p>“And you must be the grilled salad?”</p><p>Ian smiled somewhat bashfully. “Uh, yeah- thanks.”</p><p>The waitress grinned at him; her eyes were warm and smile genuine. It made Ian feel just a little less nervous. She winked at him once as she turned away, the empty tray tight in her hand. Ian looked down at his meal, hating the warmth in his cheeks.</p><p>“Freak.”</p><p>Ian looked up, smirking up at his older brother. Lip looked down at the food in front of Ian with disgust.</p><p>Ian shrugged; meeting Lip’s eye head-on as he took an overflowing bite of lettuce. Lip snorted, grinning in return as he tore a large bite out of his burger.</p><p>It was rare for the pair to meet up for lunch, certainly less frequently as the years went on and both became busier. Lip had long since graduated college and moved just outside of the South Side to start an internship at a serious tech company. Ian had teased him relentlessly when he had starting renting a small apartment on the North Side, but the excitement on Lip’s face when he had been officially hired and started receiving pay checks big enough to afford his own little place – however small and shabby – had been enough that any resentment Ian had toward his brother for being able to escape their town was forgotten. But every single time that they did manage to meet up Lip would, without fail, mock Ian’s taste in food. It wasn’t a serious dig, although Lip’s disbelief in how Ian could possibly enjoy salad but genuine. In the years since both had left the Gallagher family home it had strangely become a comfort to Ian; despite the distance that grew both literally and figuratively between the brothers, nothing really changed over the years.</p><p>“You’re fucking nasty”, Ian chuckled as he settled back in his chair, sipping on the drink in front of him. “Okay, come on. No more pussyfooting; ask me what you wanna ask me.”</p><p>Lip didn’t even attempt to deny it, instead sitting back similarly to Ian and pushing up his sleeves. He sighed deeply before he spoke. “You spoken to Fiona?”</p><p>Ian rolled his eyes. “Lip-”</p><p>“-Look I don’t wanna be the messenger any more than you want to get the fuckin’ message. But Fiona wants you to move back in, and you keep dodging her calls, so”, he gestured to the table between them, “here we are.”</p><p>Ian’s jaw jutted out in irritation but he took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to snap at his sibling. He took another few bites of his lunch, before nodding his head slowly, ignoring the small niggling pain at the base of his neck and the tingling of his fingertips.  </p><p>“You know I can’t”, Ian said simply.</p><p>Lip nodded once, sharply. “But you know that it makes sense.”</p><p>“It doesn’t make sense for a 24-year-old man to move back in with his fucking mother figure-”</p><p>“-It does if he only recently got out of the fucking hospital Ian-”</p><p>“-I didn’t-” Ian began to interrupt before he cast a nervous eye at the tables around him. He stopped, looking at his brother, pleading with him to understand. “I need to do this myself, Lip.”</p><p>Lip rolled his eyes, and for a moment Ian was 14 again, looking up at his older brother and feeling inferior to the face of his smug self-assuredness.</p><p>“I get that you want to keep your independence, Ian. But how are you supposed to notice the signs? Someone has to be there, and be that-”</p><p>“You think I don’t know the signs?” Ian hissed quietly, leaning forward in his chair towards his brother. Lip paused, contemplative. “I’ve spent the last fuck knows how long getting it drilled into my head what the fucking signs are. Every day, Lip.”</p><p>Ian watched as his older brother’s lip quivered before he finally took another bite of his burger and nodded. There was a moment of understanding that passed between them, but the concern behind Lip’s eyes was palpable.</p><p>“You hear about Debbie’s new boyfriend?”</p><p>Ian appreciated the change in topic for what it was; Lip was providing him with an out. Ian didn’t doubt that the conversation would come up again, and probably sooner rather than later, but for now Lip was backing off. Ian dove at the offer. “Matt?”</p><p>“God no”, Lip snorted. “It’s Kyle now.”</p><p>Ian choked on his drink, immediately triggering sniggers from Lip. “Fuck-”, Ian laughed as he wiped drink from his chin. “Kyle?”</p><p>Lip chuckled, eating his fries. “Swear that girls got a new guy every week.”</p><p>Ian paused in thought, his brow furrowing. Lip stopped where he was bringing another fry to his lips, and raised an eyebrow. Ian’s looked at Lip with wide eyes. “Fuck”, he breathed.</p><p>Lip chewed his fry and smirked at his brother. “What?”</p><p>“She’s becoming Fiona”, Ian said simply, face deadpan.</p><p>Lip lost his composure immediately, snorting so strongly that he choked on his mouthful, laughing around his coughs. Ian burst into laughter as well, allowing every negative thought to flee from his brain as he laughed with his big brother.</p><p>There was a comfortable silence as they calmed down and started to eat. Ian looked at his brother properly for the first time in a few weeks. As they had both aged, Ian had undoubtably shot past Lip in height, and had focused a lot more passionately on health and exercise than the genius sibling had. Despite that, Lip looked good. He was healthy, his skin pink and tanned and his hair full. The bags under his eyes made it clear he was just as hardworking and self-destructive as always but that wasn’t anything Ian didn’t expect. He was dressed casually- clearly it was his day off – but he definitely felt like a different Lip than Ian had known all those years ago. Still, something about him made Ian grin.</p><p>“What you smiling at?”</p><p>Ian shrugged. “Nice seeing you, man.”</p><p>Lip’s eyes narrowed for a moment, analysing him. Ian felt himself shift nervously – despite the last few months of his life, he would never get used to the serious scrutiny his family examined him with now. It would always be uncomfortable and disconcerting; it didn’t matter that they were doing it because they cared.</p><p>“You doing okay?”</p><p>Ian rolled his eyes, ignoring the itch to avert his gaze. “Yes”, he insisted gently. “I’m good. Work’s fucking boring though.”</p><p>Lip relaxed slightly. “You figured out what you’re doing yet?”</p><p>“Nah”, Ian said casually as he leaned back in his chair, balancing precariously on the back two legs. “Thinking about maybe applying to become an EMT? They do courses.”</p><p>He sounded sceptical and it was clear Lip picked up on it. “You don’t sound convinced.”</p><p>“Background checks”, Ian said simply. Lip seemed to understand, and nodded silently. His eyes cast down to his plate and he poked at the remaining fries awkwardly.</p><p>Ian could feel the heaviness in the air settle over him like a weight and he threw it off quickly. “So, tell me how are going with Sierra.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Getting away from the small café and his brother’s pitiful stares left Ian feeling both thankful and drained. Somehow, in the last few months, seeing his family had gone from a pleasant experience that left him missing them and aching for their company again, instead left him tired and missing the silence of his apartment. As he approached his apartment building, he could feel the stress begin to subside as his bed grew closer. He unlocked the door quickly, throwing the keys and his wallet onto the couch that sat crammed into the small space that was his living room.</p><p>“Hey buddy”, Ian said affectionately as he brushed his hand over the back of Bear’s head, kicking the door shut behind him. He continued on his path, walking through the hall of his apartment and down toward his kitchen. A small smile grew on his face as he heard the pitter patter of Bear’s feet following him.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, alright”, he said gently as he refilled the small dog’s water bowl. Bear immediately dove for the fresh water.</p><p>“Pretentious dick”, Ian said affectionately, watching the dog frantically lap at the bowl.</p><p>He turned back to his bedroom, looking across the floor at the strewn clothes around him. With a deep breath, Ian slowly began to pick all the pieces up and carefully put them away. In his panic to see his brother, knowing exactly which topics were bound to come up, he had seemed so incapable of calming himself down and simply choosing a damn outfit. Putting it all away now, he was almost angry at his own anxiety.</p><p>When he was done and the budding anxiety in his chest had started to deflate again, he allowed himself to collapse onto his bed. His sheets weren’t anything expensive but fuck if they weren’t the best part of his little South Side trash heap apartment.</p><p>Basking in the silence, Ian failed to notice the quiet buzzing of his phone from the pocket of the jacket he had thrown over the back of his desk chair until Bear began barking at it. With a small grunt of effort, he forced himself up and across the room.</p><p>When he saw Fiona’s name on the phone, he contemplated just hanging up and feigning ignorance when he called her back later. He bit his lip as he argued with himself for a moment, before finally relenting. He’d have to face her eventually.</p><p>“Hey, Fi.”</p><p>Fiona’s voice, despite all their issues, always had some strange sort of control over him. When her calm, motherly voice sounded down the line an immediate calm settled over him.</p><p>“Hey, sweet face! How you doing?”</p><p>“Good”, Ian said reluctantly. “It’s not been too bad, Fi.”</p><p>Fiona was silent for a moment. “You promise?”</p><p>“Promise”, he said gently, imploring her to believe him.</p><p>He was thankful beyond words when she allowed the topic to fall. Either he was exceptionally lucky today, what with both Fiona and Lip being so placating, or they were trying a new persuasive tactic. He’d figure it out eventually but for his sanity he hoped it was the former.  </p><p>“When are you coming over?”</p><p>For a moment he was concerned the word was going to be ‘home’. His pleasant surprise drew a chuckle from him. “I can come… this weekend maybe? I don’t have work Saturday.”</p><p>Fiona’s smile was audible down the phone. “The kids have been asking after you.”</p><p>“I bet Debbie’s been worried”, Ian said softly.</p><p>“Yeah”, Fiona said wistfully. “Me too.”</p><p>“I know”, Ian said. “You don’t need to be.”</p><p>Fiona exhaled. “Ian-”</p><p>“-Can we just… not? We can argue about all of this on Saturday, okay?”</p><p>Fiona sighed, but quickly agreed. They exchanged goodbyes before Ian ended the call, staring down at the phone, his fingers tightening around the device. He stared down at the dark screen of his phone. For a moment, he let himself imagine what it would be like if he just… dialled. Just reached out and… He couldn’t. Not yet.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Mickey smirked, watching as his sister attempted so valiantly to straighten out the ends of her dress. He settled back, sitting on the arm of the couch and snorting under his breath as the younger Milkovich struggled.</p><p>“Fuck off, asshole” Mandy spat, only mostly joking, as her brother sniggered. </p><p>“Oh, for fuc- Jesus, Mandy”, Mickey sighed, rising from the couch. “Never doing this gay shit for you again”, he said shortly as he took the edge of the fabric from between her fingers and helped her straighten it out.</p><p>Mandy giggled, “Your inner fag came out.”</p><p>“Fuck off”, Mickey said, biting his lip as he concentrated on smoothing out the folds in the hem. “Done. Now hurry the fuck up.”</p><p>“You’re an ass”, Mandy said warmly as she turned to grab her purse and jacket.</p><p>Mickey rolled his eyes. “Y’know, a fucking thank you would be nice.”</p><p>“In your dreams”, she replied as she hooked her arm through his to drag him from the house. Mickey shrugged her arm off, ignoring her protests and walking ahead to claim the driver’s seat.</p><p>“What you got today?”</p><p>Mickey rolled his eyes as he pulled out onto the road, “Fucking Richards again.”</p><p>Mandy hummed in understanding, her lip twitching as she refrained from smiling.</p><p>“Fuck you”, Mickey said simply, not even looking over at her as he took a sharp turn.</p><p>There was a sudden explosion of sound as the car opposite them at the junction sped past the stop sign, swerving around the traffic and weaving in and out of cars. Mickey jerked the car to a stop, ignoring Mandy’s shout of disapproval.</p><p>“Je-sus Christ”, Mickey whispered in surprise as he watched the car disappear down an adjacent street.</p><p>“Asshole”, Mandy hissed. She looked over at her brother and jerked her elbow against his when he remained in place. “C’mon.”</p><p>Mickey shook himself out of it, forcing himself to breathe again as he continued down the street.</p><p>It wasn’t long before Mickey pulled the car up to Mandy’s workplace, and she groaned as she got up to leave the car. The diner she worked at wasn’t anything special and it certainly wasn’t work Mickey would ever want to be stuck doing, but it paid well enough and the owner Federico was a nice, if mildly creepy, older man. On days like this, when he knew that Pete Richards was waiting at the shop for him, Mickey was almost jealous that Mandy only had to deal with an overenthusiastic flirty old man.</p><p>Mandy grabbed her bag and swung it over her shoulder as she slammed the passenger door closed. She walked around the car, pausing at Mickey’s window. “Don’t forget”, she said as she leaned against the door and peered inside at her older brother. “It’s Ig’s birthday Tuesday so we’re going out for drinks tonight. Get a present on the way home.”</p><p>“You getting a lift again?”</p><p>Mandy shrugged. “If Ian keeps offering, I’ll keep accepting.” The small smile on her face made Mickey so desperately need to roll his eyes, but he just shook his head instead.</p><p>“I’m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that you’re hoping one day he’ll ask you out.”</p><p>The grin that spread across Mandy’s face was an unabashed one; she wasn’t guilty and refused to pretend to be. “We’re taking it slow”, she teased, pushing off from the side of the car. “I’ll see you back at the house.”</p><p>“Or I’ll have already killed myself to avoid dealing with Richards.”</p><p>“Yeah, good luck with that”, Mandy chortled.</p><p>Mickey finally arrived at the shop, tucked nicely beside a far larger and more popular building, an alley on the other side, before a row of other popular shops lined the streets. He had long since accepted his fate as the token ‘small’ business in the area, far less popular than the clothing stores and coffee shops that littered the streets. It was only because of the nature of his work and his freedom to negotiate steeper prices when selling to pretentious north siders that he was even able to afford the rent on the meagre little building he worked from.</p><p>Regardless of that pit of embarrassment, Mickey was proud of what he had accomplished and that little shop, tucked down a busy street and often forgotten, was the physical embodiment of Mickey’s accomplishments. It wasn’t exactly easy for someone like him to achieve anything of substance; it was certainly uncommon for someone like him to own property. So, despite how much he wished for better, he knew just how proud he should be of the minimum he had achieved. He smiled up at the building as he withdrew a set of keys from his pockets and moved to unlock the door.</p><p>“Morning, queer.”</p><p>Mickey recoiled, jumping in alarm. He had long ago become immune to the power of that word, never once liking the venom with which it was normally said, but the phrase in and of itself did little to him anymore. Hell, he was guilty of using it almost every day; the word didn’t really hold any power over him anymore.</p><p>That’s not to say that sudden and unexpected slurs thrown in his direction didn’t freak him out.</p><p>Mickey spun to face the harasser, his fingers curling around the key, ready to swing it if he needed to.</p><p>He should have recognised the voice, really.</p><p>Pete Richards stood in front of him, close enough to have Mickey’s heckles rising and his back tight and tense like a puppeteer had yanked on his strings. How exactly the older client of his has discovered his proclivities, Mickey had never really figured out. He had made a very conscious – although less so as he grew – effort throughout the course of his life to avoid looking or acting a certain way. Growing up South Side didn’t really give him much choice in that regard, and it had become second nature to shake off any stereotypes at every opportunity. So, when the ignorant piece of shit in front of him had first addressed Mickey’s very private inclinations, Mickey had been so shaken that he hadn’t even considered beating the man the way every inch of his upbringing told him to. He knew he could do something about it, easily in fact. But the ever-present fear that bubbled in his mind when he even thought of… <em>that</em>, made him adamant that he wouldn’t. Apparently, Pete had taken that refusal to confront him as a sign that his offensive remarks were welcome.</p><p>“What the fuck are you doing here? I said 10.”</p><p>Pete was a middle-aged balding man, and with dark circles as stark as the ink on Mickey’s arms, Mickey had always thought that the man looked like a deadbeat. In fact, upon first meeting him Mickey had thought he was a bum that had managed to steal some poor rich fuck’s suit. He had eventually figured out that the older man was a North Side realtor because he took every opportunity to brag about it. When he had first heard, Mickey had almost snickered; who the fuck was buying houses from someone who looked like he just shot up?</p><p>“I thought I’d get here early. Early bird catches the worm, right?”</p><p>His sneer made Mickey’s resolve strengthen and he pinned the man with an unimpressed glare. “Fuck off until it’s your appointment time, I haven’t even opened the shop yet.”</p><p>He was saved from having to add anything further by the arrival of Heidi, his receptionist. As she approached from her car across the street, she frowned in concern at the two men standing toe-to-toe outside the shop front. Mickey met her eye over Pete’s shoulder and looked pointedly at the keys in his hands.</p><p>“Good morning, Sir”, Heidi greeted professionally as she slinked past, gracefully taking the keys that Mickey ever so slightly held out to her. She turned her back to them both, unlocking the shop with a click flick of her fingers. When the door swung open, she turned back to Mickey expectantly.</p><p>“Coming in, boss?”</p><p>Mickey nodded, his eyes sharpening once more as he gave Pete one last warning look. The older man looked at Heidi contemplatively before sighing, raising his arms just slightly. “Okay, okay”, he relented. “I’ll head over to ‘Patsy’s’ for a coffee or two. See you at 10.”</p><p>The raised brow he sent Mickey made the younger man grit his teeth and before he allowed the arrogant prick any more of his time, Mickey quickly turned and entered the shop, ignoring the heat of Pete’s eyes on his back.</p><p>Heidi closed the door gently behind him, no doubt smiling placatingly at their customer. As she turned to watch Mickey approach the back studio, she frowned.</p><p>“The fuck was that?”</p><p>Mickey grunted.</p><p>Heidi chuckled derivatively. “Why do you still take orders from that prick? He’s a complete jerk.”</p><p>“He pays”, Mickey said simply as he threw his wallet and phone onto the desk at the back of the studio room. It was no more than a couple square feet, each inch of wall littered with a variety of mediums, canvases, machines and equipment.</p><p>Heidi looked away, frustrated. It was an unspoken rule that they didn’t discuss why Mickey was so desperate for money. And why he never did anything more permanent about the aggressive client. She surveyed her boss and friend closely before she took a deep breath and settled into the chair at her small reception desk.</p><p>With her back to him, Mickey took the opportunity to drag his hand down his face. He crumpled into the chair at his drawing station, and allowed his head to fall into his hands for just a moment. A moment of weakness, with Heidi looking pointedly at the computer in front of her, couldn’t hurt.</p><p>“How many we got today?”</p><p>“Consultations or pick-ups?”</p><p>Mickey pulled his hands from his face, ringing his hands slightly. “Both.”</p><p>Heidi hummed softly and Mickey could see her back straighten as she began to explore something on the screen of her computer. “4”, she said simply. “Richards at 10, pickup; the Gogh inspired pick up at 5, and then two consultations, one at 12 and one at 2.”</p><p>Mickey nodded, swinging his chair to the assortment of pencils and charcoals on the display behind his station. He perused them thoughtfully as he replied. “Think you can go find me a present for Ig sometime between ‘em?”</p><p>He didn’t need to see her to know she was rolling her eyes, but the amused chuckle he heard was enough to make him smile triumphantly.</p><p>“Fine”, Heidi said as she turned to watch him work silently. “But I’m using your card. And I’m buying myself something pretty.”</p><p>They both knew it was a joke, but Mickey gasped in faux dismay anyway. “And take away my livelihood?”</p><p>Heidi sniggered. “Fuck your livelihood.”</p><p>Mickey simply raised his closed fists in warning, pointing the darkened skin of his knuckles towards his colleague.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah. ‘Fuck U-Up’ too.”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Ian rolled his shoulders as he slipped the short white apron around his waist. The start of his shift, triggered by the moment his apron tied around his waist, always activated a sort of melancholy feeling inside of him. Years ago, waking up early every day to train for ROTC, he had never expected that at 24 years old his claim to fame would be the most generously tipped waiter at the South Side’s very own ‘Patsy’s Pies’. Sure, he was thankful to his boss Federico for keeping him on, and he couldn’t say that learning basic Italian from the older man for years hadn’t been at least mildly entertaining, but Ian had long ago hoped to escape the dead-end job that seemed to run his life.</p><p>These days, he kind of felt like he was running around in circles.</p><p>“Mornin’ loser.”</p><p>Ian grinned, twisting to look at Mandy over his shoulder. “Bitch”, he nodded in greeting.</p><p>Mandy beamed at him, her characteristic glare missing. She swept past him to gather her own apron, tying it around her waist with a practised ease that even Ian hadn’t quite mastered yet.</p><p>“Fede wants you”, she said as she tied up her hair. “Something about your pay last month?”</p><p>Ian groaned, throwing his head back. “Here we go”, he sighed.</p><p>“This something to do with the sick leave?”</p><p>Ian nodded, leaning across her back to grab his phone and slip it into the pocket of his apron. “I’ll keep fighting him on it. Not like I asked to be hospitalised for 3 weeks.”</p><p>Mandy shrugged uselessly, “Let me know if you decide to go for the intimidation tactic. I’ll send my brothers after him.”</p><p>“Oh God”, Ian teased, rolling his eyes. “Wouldn’t want the terrifying Milkoviches after him.”</p><p>Mandy sauntered past him towards the front of the diner, casting a critical eye over her shoulder. “That sounds like sarcasm. Maybe I’ll send them after <em>you</em>.”</p><p>Ian sniggered as he followed after her, before stopping at the door of Federico’s office. “You do that. Any of ‘em hot?”</p><p>Mandy gagged violently as she darted around the corner of the call, ignoring the laugh that followed her.</p><p>Looking at the glass door of Federico’s office made Ian’s entire body lock in tension. A chill travelled slowly up his back and his fingers tingles slightly as a small burning sensation ran through them. He curled his fingers into his palm, rapping his fist gently against the door. When his hands fell back to his sides, his fists refused to uncurl. He gritted his teeth when he heard Federico’s thick voice call through the door to come in, begging himself to remain calm.</p><p>“Ian”, Federico greeted simply as he looked up from his computer screen.</p><p>Ian smiled somewhat tersely. “Hey. Mandy said you wanted to see me?”</p><p>Fede took a deep breath, rolling up his sleeves as he turned to face his employee. He sounded tired. “Your sick leave.”</p><p>“What about it?” Ian asked, trying desperately to keep any hint of exasperation from his voice.</p><p>His boss seemed a little sheepish as he did his best to keep Ian’s eye. “I can’t give it to you.”</p><p>“You ca-”, Ian paused, feeling a sudden flurry of sensation passing through his chest. He tightened his fists, tucking them behind his back so Federico couldn’t see. With the abrupt, growing feeling in his chest came a wave of anxiety. Ian felt his heartrate shoot up and a sizzling heat settle over his shoulders. He forced them back, straightening his back and attempting to force the feeling back down, so that he might be able to speak.</p><p>“Fede”, he began slowly, testing the waters. “I can’t take a month unpaid leave. It- I don’t have the money. I <em>need</em> that money.”</p><p>Federico almost looked sympathetic as he shrugged. “I can’t do anything about that, Ian. I did my best, but upper management said no. That’s final.”</p><p>The fire crackling away inside of him was suddenly drenched in fuel, and the heat in Ian’s chest exploded. He felt a spark between his fingers, a tickling sensation so intense he felt the desperate need to itch. He refrained from doing so.</p><p>“Fuck you”, he spat as he turned on his heel, moving quickly and silently from the room before bursting into a frantic run down towards the hall of the diner. He saw the door to the employees smoking area and didn’t hesitate.</p><p>With more force than he anticipated, Ian burst through the back door. For a moment his brain recognised the terrifyingly loud, sharp screech of the metal but didn’t register the implication of it.</p><p>He threw his back against the brick wall, breathing so deeply that he felt his ribs ache as they fought against his expanding lungs. He leant his head back, forcing his breathing to even out as he tapped his foot slowly to a familiar beat. The crackling of his fingers pressed against the brick wall produced a rhythmic sound that kept him sane, its beat almost comforting over the violent rush of blood in his ears.</p><p>He felt the pitter patter of his heart slowly settle, like rain lightening up right before it stopped. Ian slowly lowered his head. He winced when he saw the metal door at his feet, its body contorted and bent. The hinges had been ripped right off, the metal of them jagged and violent.</p><p>Ian stared at it motionless for a passing moment, his brain working overtime to try and comprehend what he was seeing.</p><p>“Fuck”, he whispered, his eyes widening when reality finally settled in. With a raged breath that threatened to plummet him back into panic, Ian approached the remains of the door. He crouched beside it, his fingers skimming lightly over the metal. He cast an eye down the hall towards Federico’s office, but his door was still closed. How he hadn’t heard the noise, Ian wasn’t sure. Or perhaps he had but himself had been too angry at Ian’s nerve to do anything about it.</p><p>Looking back down at the door in front of him, Ian slammed his eyes shut and forced back the sobs in his throat. “Fuck, fuck, fuck”, was the accompanying noise that followed him as he moved to stand up the door, setting it lightly against the frame. He lined up the top hinge and ran his finger over it once, watching as the metal twisted and moulded itself around the grooves of the door frame.</p><p>Taking a deep breath, Ian bent his knees until he was eye level with the curve of the metal where it had caved under the pressure of his hands. As the door hung precariously by one hinge, he settled his palms gently over the door, a tickling sort of searing heat rising across the palms of his hands. He watched somewhat enraptured as the metal glowed red hot around his palms. There was no way he’d ever get used to this.</p><p>With it finally malleable, Ian carefully smoothed the bend away. With a final brush of his finger over the lower hinge, the door hung unstable on the door frame. Testing its mobility, Ian stepped inside the diner and closed it firmly behind him. It wasn’t perfect, but at least when it gave up and fell back apart no one would be able to pinpoint him as the culprit.</p><p>Staring at the remains of the damage he had made was like a bucket of ice water being poured over his head. A chilling sensation shot through him and almost immediately the burning pain in his palms had disappeared, followed swiftly by an almost soothing chill along his skin. He looked down at the red raw skin of his hands, once more begging his heart to slow down. He swallowed the lump in his throat, forcing himself to turn back to Federico’s office and beg forgiveness for being so rude.</p><p>His day was already off to a shit start.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When Ian finally joined Mandy on the floor of the diner, his cheeks were hot with embarrassment. Fede hadn’t been pleased; in fact, he’d been thoroughly pissed. But after the fourth or fifth straight minute of Ian apologising profusely, he had finally seemed to grow tired of the interruption. With a simple wave towards the door, he had told Ian in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t watch himself, he’d quickly find himself unemployed. Ian had thanked him and left the room before the older man could change his mind.</p><p>Looking across the open-floor diner now, Ian felt a level of embarrassment that he hadn’t felt in years. He was well aware that no one in the diner was particularly aware of what had happened, but they had no doubt heard the employee exit slamming. Or fucking breaking.</p><p>When Mandy walked around the counter with a half-empty pitcher of coffee, she paused at Ian’s side.</p><p>“You okay?”</p><p>Ian looked down at her, startled. “Uh, yeah. Yeah, of course. Are you?”</p><p>Mandy seemed unconvinced but didn’t question him. She looked over her shoulder at an older gentleman tucked into a booth in the corner of the diner, his suit almost as stifling as the unimpressed, mildly disgusted look on his face as he delicately handled the menu. He looked as though the thing might bite him.</p><p>“Asshole at table 13. Really grating on my nerves.”</p><p>Ian bristled just looking at the man, but offered anyway. “Want me to take it for you?”</p><p>Mandy shook her head, laughing. “Nah. Thanks though. I can deal with a handsy, arrogant asshole. What I can’t deal with is that obnoxiously loud couple sitting in <em>your</em> corner.” She indicated to the right side of the restaurant, where a couple were sat opposite one another, leaning in so that their heads were touching.</p><p>Ian rolled his eyes. “Fuck me.”</p><p>“Give me a time and a place, honey”, Mandy joked as she stepped around him to refill her coffee pot. Ian ignored the passing thought that maybe she sounded a little too forced in her humor. Instead he set off toward the love birds.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When Richards and his 10 o’clock appointment rolled around, Mickey only had to look once pointedly at Heidi for her to comprehend his meaning. As the older man sauntered into the shop with his usual air of arrogance, Heidi silently headed down the hall and towards the back door with only the most perfunctory of smiles at their customer.</p><p>Being alone with Pete Richards was never something that Mickey welcomed, but frankly he preferred the openness with which Richards was an asshole when they were alone to the underhanded way he handled their interactions when Heidi was around as a buffer.</p><p>“Mickey”, Pete nodded in greeting, his trademark sneer in place.</p><p>Mickey did his best not to laugh at the older man’s hostility but a chuckle slipped from between his lips. Pete’s eyebrows soared up, and he looked almost impressed for a moment before a look of distain settled over his face. “Where’s the piece?”</p><p>Mickey tipped his head in the direction of his studio. “Give me a second and I’ll grab it.”</p><p>He moved quickly and calmly into his studio, unhooking the canvas from the easel it was secured to. Giving it a gently brush down with his palm to remove the lingering hair and dust from the air, he gripped it tightly and turned back to the doorway.</p><p>Pete stood under the arch of the doorway, his eyes passing over the room. Mickey tensed at the poorly-concealed judgement on his face.</p><p>“I do love this place. It’s ever so quant”, Pete said, his backhanded compliment not lost on Mickey.</p><p>Refusing to give the man the response he likely craved, Mickey approached him with the canvas. Pete snatched it from his hands, flipping it over and casting a critical eye over its surface.</p><p>“Better than the last one”, he said simply.</p><p>Mickey looked down at his hands, his lips twitching with amusement. That was the older man’s way of trying to skirt around the fact that he was actually impressed by what was in front of him.</p><p>Pete looked up, clocking Mickey’s pleasure. “Surprised that you’re able to do such fine work with that limp wrist of yours.”</p><p>The smile was wiped from Mickey’s face in an instant. “Cash or card?”</p><p>Pete looked almost disappointed that Mickey hadn’t taken the bait. He stepped aside to allow Mickey to pass. Mickey snatched the card reader from Heidi’s desk, not requiring an answer.</p><p>Mickey ignored how chills travelled along his spine as Richard’s walked around him to stand opposite him, dropped the canvas at his feet as he withdrew his wallet. He didn’t look up as he held the card reader up to Pete for him to swipe his credit card.</p><p>As he moved to withdraw his hand, Pete reached out and locked his fingers around his wrist. Mickey looked up, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion.</p><p>“Maybe I’ll suggest this place to a close friend of mine. He’s quite the fan of… art.”</p><p>As the older man’s eyes ran over Mickey’s body, for the first time since he had been unfortunate enough to meet the realtor, Mickey felt truly uncomfortable in his own skin. “Is that what this is?” he hissed before he could stop himself.</p><p>Pete’s fingers tightened around his wrist but Mickey refused to flinch. “Excuse me?”</p><p>“The whole ‘fag’ act?” Mickey explained, snorting derivatively at the man. “The whole ‘hate the gay guy so he doesn’t realise you’re a fag too’ thing?”</p><p>Pete grinned. “You’ve got nerve.”</p><p>“And you’ve got a hard-on”, Mickey said bravely, nodding down to the older man’s crotch. Despite the fact that the desk blocked Mickey from confirming his prediction, the way that Pete sneered at him made it obvious Mickey wasn’t far from hitting the mark.</p><p>There was a pregnant pause where Pete seemed unsure where to project his anger. His grip tightened once more and something in Mickey flipped on. He leaned forward menacingly, his deep-seated disgust at being this pervert’s infatuation… the recipient of his hatred as well as his wandering eyes, left him feeling almost hollow with how disconnected he felt.</p><p>“Take your fucking hand off my wrist.”</p><p>Pete’s hand was gone almost as though it had never been there. He looked down at it in surprise, as though it were alien and had moved without his consent. Mickey supposed it had.</p><p>With one last look of distain, Pete gathered his wallet and freshly purchased canvas.</p><p>“I guess I’ll be sending over that friend”, Pete said simply as he turned to leave, as though the threat wasn’t entirely that; a threat.</p><p>Mickey watched him leave, his shoulders starting to ache from how raised they were. When he noticed the burning tug of his muscles, he finally relaxed them, before the reality of what he had done hit him. With a hissed curse, Mickey turned his back to the door and sent his fist through the plaster wall separating Heidi’s desk from his studio space.</p><p>He didn’t know when Heidi returned from the office but he felt her gingerly pry his fingers apart, cradling his hand in her palm as she surveyed the damage. How he ended up on the floor, he also didn’t know.</p><p>“You idiot”, she chastised, although there was no real heat behind her words.</p><p>Mickey simply nodded in agreement.</p><p>“Did he notice?”</p><p>Mickey made a sound of confusion, watching his fingers closely as he did his best to move them. He let out a sigh of relief when they flexed normally, if a little tenderly.</p><p>“Mickey”, Heidi said sharply, drawing his attention. “Did he <em>notice</em>?”</p><p>Mickey shook his head. “I-I don’t think so, no.”</p><p>“You’re supposed to be the smart one”, Heidi said slowly, as though unsure how he’d react to her reprimand.</p><p>“Apparently that slimy fuck has wanted my ass this entire time.”</p><p>Heidi recoiled; the horror evident on her face. “What a dick.”</p><p>Mickey snorted, nodding in agreement despite the understatement.</p><p>There was a tentative pause as Heidi rubbed her thumb gently over his knuckles. Were it anyone else, Mickey would have torn his hand from theirs long ago, but he knew how Heidi could be; she needed the comfort as much as he did right now.</p><p>“How you feeling?”</p><p>“My head hurts.”</p><p>Heidi exhaled sharply, “Whose fault is that?”</p><p>Mickey shrugged, welcoming her anger. He was angry too. The wave of embarrassment and disappointment in himself made him feel a little like he might choke, but he latched onto her disapproval as a welcome distraction.</p><p>“Next time”, she began firmly as she stood to pull him to his feet, “we are <em>not </em>booking him a consultation.”</p><p>Mickey laughed.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>When Ian finally took his break at 1, he felt the stress slip from his shoulders the second that apron fell to the floor at his feet. As he folded it and dropped it securely into his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder and heading from the diner, he felt freer than he had since getting out from the hospital.</p><p>He made the now familiar walk across the street and down the alley between two shops towards the open field behind the building. He jogged across it, wary of the time he had. When he made it past the clearing, he crossed the adjacent street and walked down another alley beside a small shop, until he came up on the mostly empty parking lot he had frequented during his breaks since getting released.</p><p>Ian dropped his bag at his feet, a couple feet from the wall in front of him. The paint that previously covered the bricks had long since begun to chip off, but the bulk of it was still a slightly faded white. He had spent the last two days’ worth of lunch breaks filing slowly away at the flaking paint and half-destroyed activism posters, smoothing out the surface. Today, he pulled a spray can from his backpack and shook it violently as he contemplated the empty space. After a moment or two, he took of the cap of the can and settled his finger over the trigger.</p><p>“Fuck it”, he told himself as he started to spray the wall in sweeping motions and confident strokes.</p><p>When the alarm on his phone went off 20 minutes later, Ian stood back and looked over his work. It was enough for now, he relented, as he put the cap back on the spray can and dropped it into his open bag. He slipped a wrapped burger he’d smuggled from the diner under Federico’s watchful eye from his bag, ripping open the foil as he put his backpack over his shoulder and set back on his walk across the field back to the diner.</p><p>As he exited the alley opposite the diner, he felt himself walk into something. Hissing in pain as he dropped his burger, Ian stumbled backwards, He knew he’d gone the right way; he could make that walk with his eyes closed, which was exactly why he had long ago stopped paying attention to where he was going. Had a wall been erected over the opening in the alley in the 20 minutes he’d been gone?</p><p>Looking down at the woman by his feet though, she looked a whole lot less like a wall than she had felt moments ago.</p><p>“Fuck”, Ian gasped as he knelt down beside her, his hand hovering, unsure whether it would be rude to touch her. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention! Are you okay?”</p><p>The small redhead at his feet shook her head. “No, no, it’s my fault! I got lost in my own head.”</p><p>Ian gently grasped her hand when he noticed she’d raised it, pulling her to her feet. When she straightened up, Ian felt even worse. She couldn’t have been any more than 5 ft 2. She was a petite woman, curvy in all the places that Ian suspected, were he that way inclined, would have left him breathless. She had cropped red hair, the ends skimming her shoulders, and her cheeks were full and red to match. She was, quite frankly, a beautiful woman; her eyes were big and rimmed with full lashes and her lips, thin and pink, were pulled tight in a friendly if awkward smile. She brushed her hand self-consciously down the front of her top.</p><p>Ian felt worse when he saw the rip in the left knee of her jeans. “Fuck”, he said simply, looking down at the damage.</p><p>The woman seemed to realise then that her knee was oozing blood and she looked almost shocked at the sight. “Damn”, she said. “You’re a bulldozer.”</p><p>“I really am sorry”, Ian said nervously, scratching the back of his neck as he struggled with what to do next. “I- I’m…. really sorry”, he finished lamely.</p><p>The young woman laughed, looking up at him with kind eyes. “No biggie. I should have noticed the 6 ft truck coming towards me.”</p><p>“Well this 6 ft truck should have hit the brakes.”</p><p>“Maybe”, she relented, shrugging. “Hey, you know where I can get a birthday present around here?”</p><p>Ian blinked, surprised at the sudden change in conversation. He frowned. “Like what?”</p><p>She shrugged again. “No idea. It’s for my boss’s brother; he’s too emotionally stunted to know what to buy.”</p><p>“Guy or girl?”</p><p>“Guy.”</p><p>Ian hummed in understanding. “Best bet is the jewellers down there”, he said nodding in the direction of the aforementioned store. “It’s like two streets over.”</p><p>The stranger nodded. “Didn’t even think about that. My only plan was heading to that old man Jerry’s place.”</p><p>Ian’s eyebrows shot up. “The dry cleaners? What were you gonna do, steal a shirt?” he scoffed.</p><p>The woman’s silence spoke volumes and Ian couldn’t contain his laugh. “Well shit then.”</p><p>She pulled a face, grinning. “But thanks to you, I’ll try the jewellers first. Dudes buy each other bracelets, right?”</p><p>Ian tipped his head, thinking. “Emotionally stunted, you said?”</p><p>She nodded with an eyeroll but the affection behind it made it clear she was fond of the man in question.</p><p>“Go for a dog tag or a thick chain… a necklace”, he clarified.</p><p>“Men”, she sighed.</p><p>Ian smirked. She looked back at him, opening her mouth to speak when something seemed to dawn on her and she slammed her lips shut. She chortled suddenly. “Oh, sorry”, she laughed as she ran her eyes over him appreciatively.</p><p>“It’s cool. Men suck”, Ian chuckled, raising his hands. “Look I should probably get going, but… I’m super sorry about… brutally assaulting you.”</p><p>The woman giggled. “Be thankful I’m not suing you.”</p><p>Ian grinned. “Listen”, he began hesitantly. “I work at that diner across the road. If you wanna come and get a drink, on me, you’re welcome. Y’know, as an apology.” He shrugged awkwardly, trying to convey to this stranger that he was no threat.</p><p>She nodded enthusiastically. “Sure! Can I bring the boss?”</p><p>Ian shrugged, “The more the merrier.”</p><p>“Sounds like a plan!”</p><p>Ian smiled, turning to head across the road. Their conversation finally tampering off, he was all the more aware of the minutes ticking by. With how he’d behaved with Federico earlier that day he simply couldn’t afford to be late back from lunch. “See you then!”</p><p>“I’m Heidi, by the way”, the stranger – Heidi – called behind him as he crossed the street.</p><p>Ian spun around, walking backwards towards the door of the diner. “Ian!” he called back, saluting her once before darting inside and getting back to work before Fede noticed his absence.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>---</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>As Mickey worked, his head finally aching slightly less, he found his mind wandering. There were few things that managed to throw him off kilter the way that Richards seemed to. Richards was already a nightmare to deal with, and if the older man even suspected-</p><p>Mickey didn’t want to think about it.</p><p>And yet, despite that, he found himself dropping his pencils and picking up his phone. His thumb hovered over the news app, as though giving him one last chance to back out.</p><p>He pressed down and the white loading screen made him fidget nervously. When the app loaded and news pages flooded his screen, his eyes were immediately drawn to one.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>President Starts Heated Debate with Mutant Activist.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Mickey started down at that word, willing the power it had over him to just… disappear. Being called a faggot would never seem to affect him the way that <em>that</em> word did. Just seeing it made his instincts kick in; he glanced over his shoulder once, expecting the looming figure of his father to be there, waiting. He wasn’t there but the shop was silent without Heidi’s bubbly personality, and it made Mickey’s skin crawl.</p><p>What made him select the story and begin reading, Mickey wasn’t sure. It must have been some sort of fucked up masochistic part of his brain that liked to see him panic.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The president engaged in a heated public debate last night at a press conference, with Adrian Shepherd, notable mutant rights activist. </em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Mickey sighed; he was familiar with the name. The guy was a social media star, popular amongst activist groups and less conservative types for his progressive pro-mutant views. He tended to avoid the man’s content, because his curiosity to read the comments always led to slurs and hatred plastered across his phone that left his throat feeling tight and his chest aching with a need but inability to breath.</p><p>Yeah, it was safer just to… not look.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>The president demanded the removal of the activist and made his first public address towards the movement since assuming office last year.</em>
</p><p>
  
</p><p>Mickey played the video, glaring at the image of the president on his screen, as though the man might spontaneously combust if he stared hard enough.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>“You want rights? That’s great, it’s always good to aim high. But don’t get your hopes up, okay? Now- No, no-”, he interrupted Aiden, who had begun shouting in rebuttal. “Please, keep it together. We don’t want you to get removed. Matter of fact, lets do that. Let’s remove him, shall we? Now.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Mickey quickly clicked from the video, his fists clenching. He ignored the remaining 40 seconds of video; sure it would only be their fearless leader’s taunting and offensive remarks. The sound of the audience jeering and laughing in the background only made him angrier.</p><p>He stood up abruptly. He couldn’t sit still right now.</p><p>He ignored the sound of his pencils rolling from the desk, dropping onto the floor. Instead he moved from the studio, walking out to Heidi’s office and paced around the empty space.  He didn’t know how long he paced for, but by the time he realised that his breathing had finally returned to normal, his body was damp with sweat.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>When Ian spotted Heidi almost an hour after their violent encounter, he waved her over to a table in his section of the dinner. She was alone, which Ian was somewhat thankful for.</p><p>“Get a present?” he asked kindly as he handed over a menu.</p><p>Heidi grimaced. “I did, I just hope it’s manly enough for Mr Grumpy.”</p><p>“He’s the boss I take it?” Ian laughed as he slipped into the seat opposite her.</p><p>Heidi smiled at him, flicking open the menu. “Oh yes!”</p><p>“Drink?” Ian prompted gently.</p><p>Heidi hummed, looking deep in thought. “Oh yeah! I’ll have a Cola, please.”</p><p>Ian nodded and headed over to the kitchen, ducking around a co-working carrying multiple trays, and grabbed a glass from under the counter. He turned to fill up the drink from the dispenser, dropping a lemon into it as he headed back to Heidi’s table.</p><p>When she spotted the lemon, she frowned. Ian immediately snatched it away. “That’s a thing?”</p><p>Ian snorted, “Sadly yes. It’s nasty but we gotta do it unless they ask otherwise.”</p><p>“Guess I’m asking otherwise next time”, Heidi said as she smirked and folded the menu up. “Can I get the apple pie and a slice to take away?”</p><p>“The boss?” Ian asked as he tucked the menu under his arm and grabbed a napkin from the dispenser on the table to drop the wet lemon into.</p><p>Heidi nodded.</p><p>“I’ll wrap it up right before you leave, so it’s hot.”</p><p>“Awesome”, Heidi grinned. “Thanks, Ian.”</p><p>“No problem”, he smiled as he headed back to the kitchen.</p><p>When Heidi left the shop 20 minutes later, Ian having readily brushed away all her attempts to pay for her food, she did so with a wide smile and cheerful goodbye.</p><p>“I’ll be back”, she promised, holding out her finger in warning to him.</p><p>Ian smiled, “I look forward to it! Bring that boss of yours next time.”</p><p>Heidi hummed, “I’ll have to tempt him with pie and free eye candy”, she teased, winking at him.</p><p>The redhead looked down bashfully, fiddling with the cloth in his hand that he used to wipe down the counter moments earlier. “You do that”, he said, smiling up at her.</p><p>Heidi chuckled, tucking her red hair behind her ears and readjusting her bag on her shoulder. “See ya later, Ian.”</p><p>Ian nodded, raising his hand in a wave as he watched her exit the diner. He shook his head with a smile, turning back to the counter to continue to wipe it down.</p><p>“You got a crush, kid?”</p><p>Ian looked up, his eyes drawn to a burly, older man who sat across the counter from him, sipping on a large mug of black coffee and poking at a piece of pie. Ian recognised him as Rey, an older Policeman who frequented the restaurant, normally flirting in vain with Mandy.</p><p>Ian sniggered, “Not really, Rey.”</p><p>Rey grinned, tipping his drink in Ian’s direction. “It’s alright to admit when you got the hots, kid.”</p><p>“My hots don’t really ‘get’ for… women”, Ian said delicately, throwing away an empty wrapper from the counter and turning back to Rey with a coffee pot to refill his depleting supply.</p><p>Rey paused, his eyes flickering over Ian as though he were trying to comprehend what he was saying. Ian supposed it made sense; someone Rey’s age was probably not used to such proud proclamations of sexuality, least of all from gay men.</p><p>Eventually Rey shrugged. “Eh, fair enough.” At the look of pleasant surprise on Ian’s face, Rey sighed. “Got no place for hate, me. Dealt with that stuff enough.”</p><p>Ian frowned, “Huh?”</p><p>Rey rolled his eyes, indicating with his hand towards his darker complexion. Ian’s eyes widened before he nodded softly.</p><p>“How about another slice of pie?” Rey asked kindly when he saw how unsure Ian was on what to say. He grinned when Ian nodded, returning with a large slice and sliding the plate in front of him. “When you get off?”</p><p>Ian shrugged. “Fuck knows. Supposed to be 4, but we’re pretty busy, so…”</p><p>Rey frowned. “I don’t miss bussing tables, that’s for sure.”</p><p>Ian smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. He turned from Rey with a nod, heading out back into the kitchen. He tried desperately to ignore the irritation in his veins; he wasn’t angry at Rey by any means, but the sour reminder of his situation did nothing to improve his already shitty and stressful day.</p><p>When he spotted Mandy, clearly coming back from a smoke break, Ian saddled up her with a tight smile. “Cheer me up”, he begged.</p><p>Mandy snorted, dumping her bag beside the staff lockers. “How?”</p><p>“Tell me something that would cheer me up”, he shrugged.</p><p>She turned to him, leaning back against the wall of the hall opposite him, her feet resting between his. She watched him for a moment, before she spoke. “You hear about that protest on Friday?”</p><p>Ian frowned, “What?”</p><p>Mandy seemed wildly amused. “Some protest on the North Side. Mutant rights or something. Anyway, turns out that some guy who attended had like… telekinesis or some shit, right? So, when counter protesters show up, he straight up blows up their cars.”</p><p>Ian felt his blood cool until every inch of his skin itched from the sudden cold. He crossed his arms, leaning against the wall and trying to decipher from her face whose side Mandy was on. “He get arrested?” he asked nervously.</p><p>Mandy grinned, “That’s the best bit!” Ian bit his lip, scared of where she was going; he wasn’t sure how he’d react if his closest work friend turned out to be anti-mutant. “Protest broke up when the cops were called. Apparently, telekinesis dude busted all the street cameras; no proof.”</p><p>“All of them?” Ian asked, sceptically.</p><p>Mandy shrugged with a laugh. “Apparently, yeah. Imagine those dumb fucks’ faces!”</p><p>Ian smiled but this time it felt less heavy, like it took less effort to fake. He felt himself calm slightly. “You ever attend a mutant protest?” he asked, his eyes casting over her subtly.</p><p>Mandy shook her head. “Nope”, she said nonchalantly. “Never really got the chance I guess.”</p><p>“So, you would?” Ian hedged cautiously.</p><p>Mandy’s eyes darted to him, a frown settling over her features. “You wouldn’t?”</p><p>Ian froze, unsure what to say. If he said he would, and Mandy turned out to be anti-mutant, then worst case scenario she could call the cops – hell she could shout over her shoulder to Rey – to get him arrested for ‘promoting’ the movement. But if she wasn’t and he said that he wouldn’t, then surely Mandy would think he was one of those scumbags who really thought mutants were sub-human.</p><p>At the thinly-concealed disgust in her eyes, Ian took a risk.</p><p>“I’ve been to a couple”, he admitted shyly, watching her face closely as she digested what he had said.</p><p>She raised her eyebrows and let out a sharp exhale. “Damn, you got balls”, she admitted quietly. “You know someone?”</p><p>Ian shook his head on instinct. “No”, he said, half-truthful, “Not really. My sister just always raised us to not… judge, y’know?”</p><p>“You don’t think they’re dangerous? They think it’s triggered by trauma after all, right?” she seemed to be trying to garner some sort of response from him. “You don’t think that makes them more dangerous?” Mandy prodded.</p><p>Ian frowned; had he miscalculated and Mandy wasn’t as accepting as she seemed?</p><p>“I think anyone can be dangerous”, he settled for tentatively.</p><p>After a moment, in which the air around them felt stifling to Ian, Mandy pursed her lips. “Quite right too”, she agreed, nodding firmly. Ian looked at her, surprised at the conviction and passion in her voice; maybe she knew a mutant. She seemed pleased with his answer either way.</p><p>Ian nodded in return, watching as she stepped away warily. He turned back to the staff lockers and thought for a moment before he ducked down to grab a cigarette from Mandy’s open bag; that conversation hadn’t cheered him up at all.</p><p> </p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Brick Wall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Ian deals with family drama while Mickey struggles with some bad news</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Sorry for the wait, the start of a new uni year made me loose track of time. Chapter 3 is already written though, and as soon as I finish chapter 4, it'll be posted.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When Mickey had seen to all of the customers that day, he finally took a moment to settle back in his chair and contemplate his day. He frowned down at his hands, glaring holes into them as he tried to piece together the puzzle in his brain that might provide him with some sort of explanation as to why he had snapped at Pete earlier that day.</p><p>It had been a long time since Mickey had even really thought about that aspect of his life. In fact, he did everything that he consciously could to avoid thinking about it. It was common knowledge that mutants were out there somewhere; freaks of nature that defied all scientific understanding and possessed abnormal and violent powers. They weren’t common, and for that reason there was little tolerance for them. But if growing up South Side had been hard as a gay man; it had been even harder as a mutant.</p><p>When he had discovered his powers at a young age, he hadn’t thought much of them. It wasn’t something that was widely discussed on the South Side; being different was already inherently wrong there, being a freak of nature (in more ways than one in Mickey’s case) was something that was so widely looked down on that even the discussion of it was strictly taboo. So, it wasn’t discussed and until one grew old enough to learn about it naturally, they most likely threw slurs and digs at any out and proud mutants in the area. It just wasn’t something most kids in his neighbourhood had been all that familiar with, outside of knowing that it was wrong.</p><p>Even Mickey’s dad, who was a proud and outspoken homophobe, racist and flat out Nazi, rarely discussed mutants. Mickey remembered hearing it once or twice when he was young, words thrown about here and there that sounded spiteful and were spoken with venom, but he had never really thought anything of it until he was 6.</p><p>It was shortly after Mandy’s 5<sup>th</sup> birthday when Mickey had slipped through the backdoor of the house, having snuck out hours prior to head down to the baseball field and practice with his little league team. He had long ago accepted that telling either of his parents about his accomplishment of getting on the team was a flat-out terrible idea, and decided that keeping it a secret was probably safer lest his dad decide to take away one of the few things that made him happy one day just for shits and giggles.</p><p>So, when he slunk back into the house, nervous and watchful of the people occupying the living room, he hadn’t really expected the shouting that erupted. Startled, he had darted into his open bedroom door and ducked under the confines of his bed, straining his ears to check for Mandy’s voice. When it became apparent that the voices belonged to his mother and father, he breathed a sigh of relief.</p><p>As though summoned by his thoughts, Mandy’s tiny figure ducked into his room moments later, clutching her hands to her chest. Mickey saw her feet as she screeched to a halt at the sight of his empty room, clearly terrified. He stuck his hand out from under the bed, waving it at her. She seemed to notice quickly and crouched under the bed, slipping under to lay on her front beside her big brother.</p><p>“What’s happening?” she asked, tears lacing her words. For not the first time, Mickey felt true hatred towards his father for making his sister so scared in her own house.</p><p>“I don’t know”, Mickey admitted gingerly, listening to the rising volume of his parent’s voices.</p><p>“… fucking whores!” his fathers voice rose so suddenly and Mickey flinched so violently that his head collided with the broken wooden slats of his bed. He winced, cradling the base of his skull with his hand.</p><p>The pair laid beside one another as the screaming continued, Mandy crying silently beside him, until the words slowly blended into the wet thudding of what Mickey knew deep in his bones to be his father’s fists colliding with his mother’s skin. He closed his eyes tightly, burying his head under his hands as the sound of grunts and desperate wet gasps echoed around the house. He reached out to clutch Mandy’s arm, pulling her sharply into his arms and covered both her hands with his. He tightened his grip on her hands, slapping them firmly over her ears.</p><p>Burying his head in her neck, Mickey did his best to think of anything else other than his mother’s sobs from the other room. He thought back to the baseball field, the feeling of running as fast as he could push his body around the pitch, the rush of adrenaline lighting up his veins as he raced toward home base.</p><p>The silence that finally fell over the house lasted so long that a chill fell over Mickey. He knew that if he tried to stand right now, he would probably collapse in tears. He had no idea where his mother was, all he knew was that the silence creeping over the house was so stifling and terrifying that he felt on the edge of tears. He thought of his mother crumpled on the floor, beaten and bloody, and fought against his instinct to run to her aid. He had no idea if his father was still in the house.</p><p>He didn’t know how long he and Mandy laid under his bed for. It could have been 5 minutes, but an inkling in the back of his mind told him it was a lot longer than that. At some point in that time Mandy had quietened down, Mickey’s firm grip over her ears clearly doing its job.</p><p>When his bedroom door finally creaked open, Mickey felt every instinct in him scream to run. He stayed where he was, his breathe getting lodged in his throat as he did his best to keep Mandy from looking up. When he spotted his mama’s pink slippers as she dragged her feet heavily over the wood floor, he let out a sigh of relief.</p><p>He finally let go of Mandy, expecting her to immediately react. When she failed to do so, he looked down at her in surprise to see she had fallen asleep, her cheeks glistening in the faint light, tear tracks wetting her face. Her eyes were puffy; they always did get that way when she cried.</p><p>Mickey slid from under the bed and looked up at his mother nervously.</p><p>She had looked worse, and it was a thought that made a 6-year-old Mickey almost sick to his stomach.</p><p>Because she looked terrible.</p><p>Her face, normally pink and yellow, was so dark and blue that Mickey wouldn’t have recognised her were it not for the piercing blue eyes he could see around the swelling of her face. Her lips were torn, blood caking her chin. Whether it was from her lips or her earlier wet coughs, Mickey almost didn’t want to know.</p><p>She was standing, just about, leaning against the small cabinet in his doorway as though a gust of wind might knock her off her feet. Her ankle was twisted slightly, something that made Mickey feel strangely guilty for not having noticed right away.</p><p>He looked her over, her nightie hanging limping on her thin frame. He knew that were she to take it off, she would probably be black and blue underneath.</p><p>“Mama?” he gasped, the liberation he felt at seeing her blink down at him so heavy that he felt like he too might collapse.</p><p>His mother sighed, but the blood in her mouth made the sound so distinctly <em>wet</em> that Mickey cringed. “Mikhailo”, she said, relief evident.</p><p>Mickey darted forward, holding his hand out for her delicately. She looked down at the offered assistance and seemed so deeply ashamed as she placed her hand in his, using him as a support for her weight as he maneuvered her over to his bed.</p><p>When she sat on the bed, she whimpered in pain and immediately tried to redistribute her weight. The movement made her hiss and she dropped her head in defeat. Mickey watched, unsure what to do, as his mother’s chest shook with each breath she took. In a moment of clarity, he ran into the bathroom that sat tucked in the corner of his room, snatching the cloth from the sink and ran it under the tap until the water was mostly not-cold. He came back to his mother’s side and gently prodded under her chin under she raised her head.</p><p>As he set to work gently wiping at the skin of her cheeks, he fought back tears at the sounds of his mother’s choked off sobs. After a minute or two it seemed too much for her and she crumpled in on herself, dropping her head back down and subsequently knocking his hand back. Her cries made Mickey’s throat tighten, and his breath stuttered from his lungs so raggedly that Mickey felt tiredness settle deep in his bones. He stood beside his mother, silently crying at her side.</p><p>She wept loudly. Mickey watched her fall apart, his eyes wide and wet as he saw the strongest and bravest woman he knew seem to completely give up. She shook her head in the palm of her hands, as though refusing the believe the reality of her life.</p><p>“Please don’t cry, mama”, he begged her uselessly.</p><p>She didn’t seem to hear him, or maybe she did, for her cries just got louder.</p><p>Mickey cringed; the sound of her crying so <em>wrong</em> to him that he couldn’t help but recoil. He spared a thought for how he hoped Mandy was still asleep under the bed. Before he had really thought about it, Mickey darted forward and wrapped his arms around his mama, trying desperately to squeeze the sadness from her.</p><p>With a wave of vertigo that left him feeling disorientated, his mother pushed him away. She looked at him in shock, as though disgusted at her own actions, and a new wave of sobs burst from her best.</p><p>“Ma-mama”, he pleaded. “Mama, don’t- mama, please don’t cry!”</p><p>She ignored him. Maybe she just couldn’t stop herself.</p><p>Mickey looked frantically to the doorway of his room, fear building in the pit of his stomach. If his father hadn’t stormed from the house in his rage then he would no doubt wake up from his drink-induced stupor if his mother got any louder.</p><p>His mind cast back to Mandy hiding under his bed, her body shaking with sobs as the sound of their mother being beaten echoed through the barebone house. Anger – towards his father, towards his life – surged through him so violently he lost his footing and collapsed to his mother’s feet.</p><p>“Mama, stop crying!” Mickey said firmly, his voice wavering despite his anger.</p><p>Immediately, his mother’s mouth clamped shut and her shoulders hitched up. Mickey watched as they shook as her breathing continued to stutter from her. When his mother looked up at him in a mixture of awe and pure fear, Mickey felt himself pull away, pushing himself along the floor and away from her.</p><p>His mother froze, staring into his eyes. She slowly opened her mouth, thankfully not crying anymore.</p><p>“Mikhailo”, she gasped.</p><p>Despite her lack of tears, the sadness was obvious; she looked devastated and so deeply wounded inside that Mickey was almost surprised she had found it in her to speak.</p><p>He looked back at her, eyebrows narrowed in confusion. “Mama?”</p><p>As though his voice had triggered her, she threw herself so suddenly to the floor beside him that Mickey flinched away and Mandy woke abruptly, hitting her head against the underside of the bed.</p><p>Mickey fought the urge to scramble away as his mother grappled for his wrists, tugging him toward her and holding his hands to her chest.</p><p>“Mikhailo.”</p><p>Mickey’s frown deepened. “Mama, what’s wrong?”</p><p>She seemed so deeply disturbed by what had happened, although what it was Mickey wasn’t sure. She shook her head passionately. “Mikhailo, you can’t-”, she seemed to struggle with her words. “You can’t ever do that again.”</p><p>“Do what again?”</p><p>Mickey saw Mandy crawl from under the bed, her eyes wide and locked on the vice-like grip their mother had on Mickey’s wrist.</p><p>“That”, his mother spat, panicked. “What you just did.”</p><p>Mickey looked around him frantically in confusion. He stuttered, pulling his hands back desperately in his distress. His mother didn’t let up her grip, narrowing her eyes at him.</p><p>“Mikhailo, you have a gift. You’re… gifted”, she finally settled on. “But you can’t-  you can’t do that again.”</p><p>“What gift?” Mickey cried; his wrists sore as he tried ripping them once more from his mother’s grip.</p><p>“Your gift”, she said simply, as though the repetition might make him understand. “If you father finds out…” she trailed off, but her warning was clear.</p><p>Mickey froze, staring up at his mother. “Mama?”</p><p>“Never again”, she said simply, her voice firm and unforgiving. “Promise me!”</p><p>Mickey’s lip quivered and he felt the pressure in his chest burst as he let out a cry. “I promise!” He had no idea to what he was promising, but it made the fearful look in his mother’s eye fade just slightly and her grip loosen, and that was enough for him.</p><p>As he watched his mother flee the room minutes later, tearing into the bathroom to vomit violently into the toilet, Mickey settled back against the wall of his room and cried.</p><p>He quit little league the next day.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Present Day</em>
</p><p> </p><p>Mickey finally left the shop, several hours later than he planned to, and he rushed to get home. He walked through the door or his and Mandy’s apartment, her shout echoing down the hall.</p><p>“You’re late, asshole!” she reprimanded. “You better have a present!”</p><p>Mickey rolled his eyes, throwing his bag onto the couch and heading into his room to switch out his paint stained pullover for a clean black shirt. He tucked it into his jeans, thankfully dark enough for the dark paints he had used that day to not be visible.</p><p>“I got a fucking present”, he confirmed as he moved back into the kitchen, watching as Mandy hopped along desperately trying to tighten the clasp of her heel.</p><p>She glared at him, standing up and snatching her purse from the kitchen counter. “What’d you get?”</p><p>Mickey shrugged. “Fuck knows.”</p><p>Mandy sighed, “Heidi buy it for you?”</p><p>The lack of shame in Mickey’s smile made Mandy grunt in disapproval and she turned to head towards the front door, Mickey trailing behind her. “Best hope he likes it.”</p><p>“He’ll pawn it no matter what”, Mickey scoffed.</p><p>Mandy seemed reluctant to defend her older brother, instead just smirking and nodding towards the car. Mickey headed in front, unlocking the old beaten down car and settling comfortably into the driver’s seat. He tossed his wrapped present over to Mandy as she sat down beside him. She scrambled to catch it, glaring passionately at him as she stumbled. “Fuck you”, she said, without any real heat.</p><p>The restaurant that they finally pulled up to was nothing special; nothing in the South Side was. But there was a certain charm to it that had clearly appealed to Mandy when booking Iggy’s birthday dinner; perhaps because it was painstakingly obvious it was one of the few places in the neighbourhood that wouldn’t kick the Milkoviches out.</p><p>Mickey got out of the car and approached the rundown restaurant with as much confidence as a dinner with his brothers could possibly allow. He smirked at the waiter that came to greet them at the door with an air of superiority that came naturally.  </p><p>Sat at the back of the restaurant, tucked into the back of room and illuminated by only a streak of light from a nearby lamp, were his brothers; Colin, Iggy, Jamie and Joey.</p><p>While Mickey approached with an air of caution, Mandy confidently swaggering past him and was welcomed into her brother’s presence with cheers and hoots.</p><p>When they next cast their eyes to Mickey, he smiled somewhat awkwardly. He had never felt particularly close to his brothers; the Milkovich men had always had trouble bonding in any conceivable way. When Mickey had developed powers that made him a self-titled freak of nature, it had become even harder for him to feel like one of his brothers. When he had developed a love for art and realised at a young age that when his brothers bragged about the pussy they had gotten, he felt no envy, the chasm between them had only grown. With the age difference and ever-expanding variations in their lives, it had simply seemed impossible for Mickey to ever develop a serious friendship with any of his siblings outside of Mandy; although even that bond had been more born out of convenience and necessity for survival than any real bonding experience.</p><p>Looking at them now, Mickey was almost resentful of the fact that he and his brothers didn’t have the sort of close-knit relationships that maybe their childhood could have fostered in ideal circumstances. Instead, while they would die for each other, they would die barely knowing the person they were dying for.</p><p>“Hey homo!” Iggy greeted cheerfully, and with that the spell over Mickey was broken.</p><p>While his abilities had been a life-long secret between himself, his mother and Mandy, his sexuality had long since been discovered; getting caught by your siblings mid-fuck with a random guy in the back alley of a club they were looting would do that. It had never really been a problem, although there was a brief period in which it seemed that Joey for sure would have an issue with it. But any risk of a blowout had evaporated the moment Mandy found out and warned their brothers off.</p><p>They all grinned at him. Jamie, being sat closest to him, reached out to punch his arm. Mickey hissed but didn’t wince, instead swatting his older brother around the head.</p><p>“How you been, Mick?” Colin asked, shifting over to make room for the additional two siblings on the booth seat.</p><p>Mickey shrugged. “Same ol’, same ‘ol. You guys good?”</p><p>The brothers made affirmative sounds. Mickey looked around at his siblings and winced internally; this was going to be painful.</p><p>It was many hours later that the Milkovich family were sat, bustling in their seats, shouting and talking over one another in their excitement. Mickey was beyond surprised that he and his siblings were falling so easily back into some semblance of familiarity. Perhaps he had been too harsh on his brothers, too dismissive of their relationships. Afterall, to care so deeply as to give your life for someone, surely you had to care enough to want to at least get to know them. And he supposed that was surely what they were attempting with every passing moment exchanged across the glossy – and now dirty – table top</p><p>“You were a bit of a whore though”, Colin said sheepishly as he raised his hands in surrender. Mandy glared at him.</p><p>“Says you! You fucked like… anything that moved!”</p><p>“That was me, actually”, Iggy piped up, grinning ear to ear.</p><p>Joey snorted loudly, “You fuckin’ wish!”</p><p>Mickey looked between his siblings, rolling his eyes at their obvious dick-measuring contest. “Pretty sure I fucked more girls that all of you combined and I’m a fucking queer”, he said, matter-of-factly.</p><p>Jamie side-eyed his brothers. “Probably got fucked by more guys than Mandy too”, he added.</p><p>Joey seemed immediately triggered by a memory. “Fuck man, you guys remember the club?”</p><p>Colin’s face scrunched up in pain, seeming to know what it was Jamie was referring to immediately. “That shit was nasty!” Colin cried.</p><p>Mickey groaned, burying his head in his hands.</p><p>Jamie grinned at the youngest brother. “Oh, c’mon Mick! Don’t get all embarrassed now!”</p><p>The brothers all laughed, Iggy reaching around his brothers to prod at Mickey’s arm teasingly. Mickey looked up at Mandy, who simply grinned and joined in her brothers jeering.</p><p>Jamie was the first to shake his head, sitting back as his laughter tampered off. “Fuck man. You know you could’a told us, right? We didn’t need to see that shit.”</p><p>Mickey sat up, glaring his brothers down. “Oh yeah, sorry! It’s not like I fucking intended to get caught by you idiots.”</p><p>“Getting ploughed against the wall”, Tony snickered under his voice.</p><p>The laughing began anew, and Mickey did his best to glare at them but eventually a smile crept up onto his face. “Wasn’t even good man”, he said offhandedly.</p><p>That set his brothers off again. “Fuck!” Colin cheered as he threw his head back to laugh.</p><p>They had already argued with the tables around them since arriving, politely telling irritated customers where to shove it if they had a problem with their volume. But as they all laughed, Mickey cast a thoughtful eye around them. When he met the eye of an older couple, the woman staring at him scandalised as though he had two heads, Mickey could do nothing but wink obnoxiously at her.</p><p>Fuck her and her opinion.</p><p>“Why wasn’t it good?” Iggy asked innocently.</p><p>Joey recoiled. “Fuck, Ig! I don’t wanna know the details!”</p><p>Mandy grinned, slapping her hand down in front of Mickey to draw his attention. “I do”, she squealed.</p><p>“Fucker didn’t know how to use it”, Mickey said simply, shrugging.</p><p>Jaime stared. “But it was a fucking foot long!”</p><p>“Didn’t know how to fucking use it”, Mickey jeered.</p><p>Colin gasped around his peals of laughter. “Why were you moaning for it then?”</p><p>Mickey jerked back in horror as his brothers began howling.</p><p>“’Oh, fuck yeah’”, Iggy teased, pushing his arms out and miming holding them against a flat surface. Colin burst into laughter, copying his older brother. “’Harder! Harder!’”</p><p>“Oh, fuck you!” Mickey shouted, smacking any brother he could reach around the head. “Ever heard’a faking it?”</p><p>Iggy paused, seemingly surprised. His confusion was palpable. “Wait, what? No?”</p><p>“You should be well acquainted with it”, Mickey said snidely as he tipped back the last of his beer. Mandy chuckled in response.</p><p>Jamie snorted, leaning toward his younger brother with a shit-eating grin. “Oh no boys, Iggy’s never noticed his partners faking it!”</p><p>When the laughter finally calmed down, Colin rubbing Iggy’s arm in a piss-poor attempt to comfort him.</p><p>There were a peaceful few minutes of near-silence as the siblings finished their drinks.</p><p>Mickey should have known the entire night was too good to be true.</p><p>Jamie finally turned to his brothers and a sombre air settled over them. “Terry’s gettin’ out”, he said simply.</p><p>It was in that moment that Mickey was reminded resolutely of what being a Milkovich was really like. It wasn’t laughing in a restaurant and teasing one another about past flings. It was that tell-tale tension that settled over each and every one of them when their father’s name was mentioned.</p><p>Mickey looked down at his palms. “When’d you find out?”</p><p>Jamie frowned, working his lower lip between his teeth before he shrugged nonchalantly. “Last week”, he said unapologetically. “Fuck saying that shit over the phone, was coming out tonight anyway.” As he spoke, his eyes drifted noticeably to Mickey.</p><p>Immediately upon noticing the eyes on him, Mickey straightened his back, puffing out his chest in that signature way he had done throughout all of his childhood.</p><p>“Fuck off”, he said offhandedly, not even bothering to attempt to conceal his discomfort.</p><p>Iggy played with his fork, dragging it across his empty place with a long face. “Great fuckin’ birthday, huh?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When Mickey returned to work the next morning, it was with a strange disconnection to the rest of the world. After Jaime’s reveal the night before, he and Mandy had returned to their apartment in silence, gone to bed in silence and driven to work in silence. They had exchanged only the most cursory of nods as he’d dropped Mandy outside the diner. When Mickey opened up the shop and started getting to work on some of his most recent requested pieces, he did so in silence.</p><p>When Heidi arrived at work, shrugging off her coat and immediately heading into his studio to deliver him a coffee, he had accepted without saying a word and simply nodded once in thanks. She hadn’t pushed – that was the beauty of a friendship with Heidi – but something in her eyes made it clear to Mickey that he would be cornered about it if he didn’t talk to her by the end of the day.</p><p>But Mickey couldn’t help it; it wasn’t that he was scared of his father, or resentful of his release, or even tired of being failed by the justice system. Mickey felt nothing. He felt so resolutely detached from everything around him, so fatigued with the world, that blasting his music and bowing his head to focus on his work seemed to be the only thing that he could muster the energy to do.</p><p>For hours Mickey worked silently, not even bobbing his head to his music or tapping his toes to the beat. Heidi watched him, politely booking appointments with any clients that arrived, but subtly rushing them out of the shop before Mickey could become aware of their presence.</p><p>When the lingering sensation of Heidi’s eyes on him got too much, Mickey forcefully pushed back his chair with his feet, standing quickly and retrieving his cigarettes and lighter. He didn’t speak to her as he headed out of the back entrance of the shop, the heavy fire door slamming behind him.</p><p>He leaned against the wall, balancing his head against the brick as he took deep puffs of his cigarette, the smoke swirling pleasantly around his throat in a familiar way that made him feel eerily calm.</p><p>It was only because the clouds cleared slightly and sun shone into his eye, basking his closed eyelids in bright red light, that Mickey blinked his eyes open and spotted the wall.</p><p>Directly across from the back of his shop was a plain white brick wall. It surrounded both Mickey’s shop and the larger retailer next door, and acted as a division between the main roads outside and the employee parking space behind the shops. Mickey had never really paid any attention to it. Hell, more often than not he didn’t even use the parking – although admittedly that was normally because the growing number of staff for the shop next door tended to steal his designated spaces and he didn’t have the patience to argue it.</p><p>Sometimes there would be random posters and flyers up on the wall – once or twice in the past he had seen movie posties and activist pro-mutant propaganda alike.</p><p>But never before had the wall be graffitied.</p><p>Looking at it now, Mickey couldn’t even be angry.</p><p>Clearly someone had taken it upon themselves to spray his wall, the white brick now marred with streaks of black spray paint that was presumably someone’s sketch for a proper tag. Mickey looked it over, getting comfortable against the wall and taking another drag of his smoke.</p><p>It wasn’t bad, and for that Mickey was grateful at least. It was clearly going to be an elaborate piece, one that was likely planned out considerably in advance. Standing up and moving closer, Mickey could see the filing of old posters that had taken place, the culprit smoothing out his canvas before he started painting.</p><p>Casting a glance at the shop next door, Mickey contemplated what to do. Realistically, he should let them know and get them to check their fancy security cameras and report the vandal as soon as possible. That or check his own. But looking the art over, Mickey found himself reluctant to do so. That and his cameras hadn’t been upgraded since before he started renting the property, and frankly he wasn’t sure if Heidi had even turned them on – he sure as Hell hadn’t.</p><p>He was about to concede and simply leave the piece alone (maybe he’d bump into the artist one day and tell him he looked forward to its completion) when a niggling in the back of his mind drew his eye to one corner of the piece. Mickey frowned, reading over the script before he smirked.</p><p>Before him, illegally plastered all over the wall that he technically owned, was a large beautiful sketch for what was sure to be a great piece of street art.</p><p>And it was misspelled.</p><p>Mickey exhaled sharply, laughing. Finishing his cigarette, he headed back inside the shop without thinking and heading back into his studio.</p><p>Heidi frowned, standing up at her desk and looking as though she wanted to ask what he was doing. Mickey just waved a dismissive hand in her direction, grabbing a spray can and turning on his heel, heading out the back door.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>When Ian had work the next day, it took him over an hour to convince himself to get out of bed. Thankful for his early morning work-out alarms, he managed to dash around his apartment, feed Bear and get out and in his car in time to speed over to the diner.</p><p>The unimpressed shake of Federico’s head suggested his rush hadn’t gone unnoticed.</p><p>Feeling immediately dejected with his day off to such a shit start, Ian had gone to seek out Mandy on his “smoke” break. She had cast him aside with an offhanded comment that sounded more like an intelligible grunt, and Ian had given up not long after.</p><p>When it was finally time for his lunch break, Ian had never craved the peaceful tranquillity of spray painting an empty wall like he did in that moment.</p><p>Gathering his things and leaving carefully through the employee exit, mindful of the broken door – the last thing he needed today was to have to explain to Fede how it had broken – Ian made his way across the street, down the alley and across the expansive field. As he neared his typical alley, he paused, hearing a slam.</p><p>Stepping around the corner of the little store, tucked behind the building, Ian spotted his art from the day before. And standing before it, sat neatly on the floor in front, was a single uncapped blue spray can, the lid resting just barely on the top.</p><p>Turning his back, Ian took note of the fire exit door that stood opposite his art and clearly led into the small shop. He paused, looking between the door and the spray can when he noticed it. On the left-hand side of his art, in the open white space of the brick wall that hadn’t already been taken up by his black spray paint, was a jumble of blue spray paint lines. Ian stood back, letting out a sharp breath of disbelief as he read the message.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>You should really learn how to read. </em>
</p><p> </p><p>Ian frowned, looking his spray painting over. When his eyes caught on his obvious spelling mistake, he snorted in surprise. How the fuck had he not noticed that he had spelt forever ‘forver’?</p><p>The blue spray-paint stranger had taken the liberty of correcting what Ian could now so clearly see was a spelling mistake in his art. Above ‘forver’ now sat a sharp blue arrow and a cleanly spray-painted letter ‘e’. The way the stranger had so confidently worked on the brick canvas, the clean lines of the paint, made it clear this wasn’t his first time creating similar street art. The fluid, smooth shape of his letter had Ian almost envious.</p><p>Ian looked back down at the spray can on the floor, furrowing his eyebrows. Had the stranger left the can? Did he expect an answer?</p><p>An immediate decision made, Ian dropped his backpack from his shoulder and pulled from it a red spray can. He bypassed the offered blue can; it would be confusing if they used the same colour.</p><p>He stepped up to the wall, casting one last nervous glance at the shop behind him, before he set to work writing across the brick.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>Got tested for dyslexia as a kid… turns out I’m just shit @ spelling.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>When he was finished, he stepped back from their painted conversation and moved over to his art. Reaching for his bag, he drew out his black can and started adding more detail. When his alarm sounded not long later, he packed his stuff back up and stepped back from the wall with his bag over his shoulder. He looked between his art – the stranger’s correction left unchanged – and the bright red and blue words beside it, and grinned.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>“But you’re being careful?”</p><p>Ian sighed as he slumped further against the fridge. It wobbled slightly against his weight, but managed to stay up. Ian would have been offended if it didn’t, given the shit it had dealt with over the years.</p><p>“Yes, Fi”, Ian said for what felt like the millionth time.</p><p>Fiona seemed no less suspicious than she did the first time she had asked, casting a nervous glance to their younger siblings sat in front of the TV. She looked back at Ian, her eyes flickering over him as though there was something there only she could see. Her face smoothed out slightly, her shoulders dropping, and Ian felt relief at what was her hopefully backing down.</p><p>“You tell anyone?”</p><p>Ian groaned, pushing away from the fridge and walking around her. If he was sat around his younger siblings where she couldn’t bring it up, perhaps he could avoid the conversation all together. Fiona frowned at him but relented, moving away into the kitchen to continue preparing dinner.</p><p>Lip looked over at him from where he sat in the arm chair, his gaze inquisitive.</p><p>Ian glared at his brother when he noticed his gaze. “What, Lip?” Ian asked tersely from between his teeth.</p><p>Lip raised his hands in surrender, turning back to the TV when Carl’s curious eye turned to the pair’s interaction.</p><p>Debbie seemed inclined to acknowledge whatever she saw between her brothers. “What’s going on with you two?”</p><p>Ian cast his brother a look; a clear warning to shut up. “Nothing, Debs. Just… I owe Lip some cash and he keeps getting on my case about it.”</p><p>Lip snorted, “Yeah well that money is important Ian. I don’t want you being in debt all your life, its important you deal with this now. I just want you to be safe and in control; we just want what’s best for you.” The way he spoke, and the unsubtle language he had used, made Ian’s glare deepen. Lip seemed unbothered; unwilling, it seemed, to entertain his brother’s attempts at avoiding the conversation.</p><p>Debbie looked between them, the crease in between her eyebrows deepening. “O-kay…”, she trailed off, clearly confused but unwilling to ask again.</p><p>Ian turned from his brother, feeling fidgety and uncomfortable. He didn’t need to see Lip to know that the older man’s attention was firmly on him, even if his eyes were glued to the TV. When a familiar stinging sensation bloomed in his fingertips, Ian lurched from the couch.</p><p>Debbie jumped, startled. Lip and Carl both turned to Ian, Carl confused and Lip concerned. Liam continued watching the TV unbothered.</p><p>Ian refused to look at any of them, pushing past them and leaving the room. He walked past Fiona and her open mouth and headed out the back door to sit on the porch. Without thinking about it, Ian lit a cigarette and took a drag, dropping his head to rest it in the palm of his hand.</p><p>He hissed, drawing his hand away and staring at his raw fingertips in shock. He gently drew the back of his hand over his forehead, wincing when pain blossomed under his touch. With a growl of frustration, Ian took another deep breath of his cigarette.</p><p>He was thankful when his family didn’t rush to interrupt him, and took the moment of silence to try and calm himself down.</p><p>When he arrived at the old house he had grown up in, he had been welcomed into a house that, despite its crooked foundations, gave him such comfort and stability that at times even his home with Bear felt a little empty in comparison.</p><p>The Gallagher house on North Wallace was more home to him than anywhere else could ever be, despite his refusal to admit it. And yet, within the hour he had already fled, desperate to escape his older siblings’ pitying looks and his younger siblings’ curiosity.</p><p>He was drawn from his thoughts by a flash of orange out of the corner of his eye and when he looked down and saw his cigarette on fire, the flames licking at his fingertips, he gasped in surprise. He threw what was left of the cigarette onto the grass, thankful at least when it didn’t spread, and stared down at his fingertips.</p><p>There must be something about being back in this house that triggered such unrestrained reactions in him; sure, he had experienced violent outbursts in the time since being released, but not once had he felt himself become so unhinged when others were around. He supposed that didn’t mean much, given that he hadn’t been dealing with this long. But the very fact that being around his younger siblings hadn’t been enough to quell the growing frustration inside of him, terrified him.</p><p>Trying desperately to distract himself, Ian wracked his brain for a neutral thought. When he thought of Mandy and their strange insecurity around one another since their heated anti-mutant discussion days early, the fizzling in his hands spiked. He closed his eyes tightly, willing away the heat that built inside his chest.</p><p>He thought of Bear, and felt the fire dampen a little, but not entirely. He searched his mind, until he settled onto the calming rattle and hiss of a spray can. He focused on the memory, black ink splattering against brick and dripping wet down the wall, the colour so dark he could almost see his reflection in it.</p><p>As his thoughts trailed off, black slowly bled into blue, and before long his mind was focused on the spray-paint stranger and his tongue-in-cheek words. There hadn’t been a further response to Ian’s message since he had left it there a couple days prior and a part of Ian hoped it was because the stranger had simply forgotten and not that Ian had blown his chances with a terrible attempt at a joke.</p><p>When he opened his eyes again, it was to the sound of a little voice.</p><p>“Ian?”</p><p>Ian looked up at his little brother, feeling any remaining heat disappear like someone had stubbed out a match. He nodded beside him, pushing himself over to make room as Liam sat down beside him.</p><p>“Are you okay?”</p><p>“Why’d you ask?” Ian said, immediately regretting the edge with which he asked it.</p><p>Liam seemed unbothered. “Everyone looks at you like you shouldn’t be.”</p><p>The matter-of-fact way that he spoke made Ian sigh, and he looked away before he could meet the younger boy’s eyes. “Yeah, well… I am”, he said somewhat dismissively.</p><p>Liam nodded, but it was obvious he was unconvinced despite the conviction in Ian’s voice. “It’s just that… you don’t really seem okay these days.”</p><p>For a moment, irritation bled into heat in Ian’s belly but he shook his head, forcing himself to calm down. There was something wrong with him today; he was acting like a resentful asshole.</p><p>“Yeah?” he asked instead, his voice softer than he expected.</p><p>Liam nodded again. “You seem… angry, and then upset that you’re angry. And you seem tired.”</p><p>Ian chuckled under his breath, looking down at his hands. They were red and tender, but not blistered or bleeding; he spared a thought for the upsides in life, that despite how much it hurt, his skin seemed thicker and more durable these days. He remembered being young, teased by Lip for how easily he bruised and bled when they were rough-housing.</p><p>“I am tired”, Ian admitted. “And I am angry… it’s tough; I don’t really know why I’m so angry lately.”</p><p>Liam seemed to understand completely, although Ian knew that was technically impossible. How the kid, so much younger than all of them, was so perceptive, Ian would never know. Especially considering his gene pool.</p><p>“Does being here with us make you angry?</p><p>Ian immediately moved to deny it, but stopped himself when he saw how straight-faced his little brother was. Liam didn’t seem offended or hurt, but simply as though he wanted to understand. For the first time in a long time, Liam looked as young as he actually was.</p><p>“Sometimes.”</p><p>He could see Liam nod in understanding out of the corner of his eye.</p><p>“But… it’s not really you guys”, Ian added after a moment of silence. “It’s more… this place.”</p><p>Liam smiled slightly. “At least it’s not me”, he said.</p><p>Ian turned to him quickly, his eyes sad as he looked down at his brother. When he saw Liam’s easy smile, he settled again. He pushed Liam’s shoulder gently, ruffling the little boy’s hair when he rocked from the force.</p><p>“Thanks.”</p><p>Liam smiled, leaning against Ian’s shoulder as the older man rubbed his head once more.</p><p>“We should head inside”, Ian eventually said, after a pregnant silence.</p><p>Liam stood up and turned to the back door to open it. “You should put ointment on your fingers”, he said softly as he swung open the backdoor and disappeared inside. He didn’t catch the look on Ian’s face as he walked away.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>--</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>How Ian had been roped into staying the night he wasn’t sure. Perhaps it had been Carl’s pleas, Debbie’s puppy eyes or Fiona’s insistence. Or maybe it was just in the hopes he might be able to corner Liam and demand answers.</p><p>Either way, by the time 10 o’clock rolled around he was stepping out of jeans and slipping on a wife beater. Looking around his old childhood room, nostalgia overcame him. He looked around him at the knick-knacks and random assortment of junk littering the cabinets and tables around the room and smiled.</p><p>It was when he was a couple minutes into a nostalgia trip that he spotted Fiona watching him from the corner of his eye. He turned to her, smiling tight-lipped.</p><p>Fiona smiled back, but it was almost sympathetic. Ian surprisingly didn’t feel anger seeing it, and instead just sighed. He nodded once to her, before sitting down on the edge of his bed.</p><p>Fiona took the invite and moved into the room, hesitating only for a moment before sitting down beside him. She rested her hands against her knees, fingers intertwining and twisting around one another as she thought of how to start. In the end, Ian felt pity for her and did it himself.</p><p>“I’m doing okay, Fi”, he began, exasperated and tired. “It’s been tough; I have a temper now, and it’s so tiring trying to keep myself from snapping all the time, but it’s normally not that bad. Something about being here, I don’t know…”, he trailed off. Fiona didn’t speak, just nodded minutely. “I haven’t told anyone and I’m being careful. I’m-”, he paused. “I’m fucking terrified, Fi. This whole thing is terrifying. <em>I’m</em> terrifying.”</p><p>It was that that finally triggered a response from his older sister, who turned to face him and curled her hands over his in his lap. “Ian, there is nothing terrifying about you. You did nothing wrong”, she said confidently. “It was bound to be one of us; six kids, with <em>Monica</em>? It was genetic roulette and you didn’t ask for this. It’s just… you got unlucky. But that is <em>NOT</em> your fault, and there is <em>nothing</em> wrong with you. Okay? Life’s just gonna be… a little harder for you.”</p><p>“Yeah”, Ian laughed humourlessly. “Because being a gay man in the South Side made life just <em>too</em> easy.”</p><p>Fiona sighed, lifting her hand to gently push back a long strand of red hair. She brushed her hand down his face, her fingers curling around his cheek. “Oh, sweet face”, she said sadly. “You got the short end of the stick, but you’re the strongest one of us there is.”</p><p>Ian nodded, but he found it hard to believe. Before all of this, he had a plan for his life. A structured and meticulously planned future that ensured all of his life’s ambitions were met and firmly conquered. But with one simple evening, all of that became null and void. And it hadn’t been his fault or something he could have predicted or avoided.  </p><p>“I had so many plans”, he heard himself say, almost too quiet for his sister to hear.</p><p>Fiona looked down at their hands, tightening her grip. “And you can still do those things, Ian.”</p><p>“The army?” Ian demanded suddenly. “No, I can’t.”</p><p>Fiona paused, but didn’t argue; she knew just as well as him that the moment he went for any army training, screening would pinpoint his abilities and segregate him without a moment’s notice. Ian wouldn’t even make it onto the bus for basic training before being remanded to a prison cell.</p><p>“Maybe one day”, she said, reaching for straws. “Those activist groups… they’re doing good work.”</p><p>Ian snorted. He didn’t mean to disregard his sister’s hope, but in the face of his new reality her attempts at placation were almost insulting. “So, it’ll be a gay rights movement thing again”, he spat derivatively. “Decades of protesting and dying for scraps, for the law to give you what you want but only on the condition that everyone that wants to can still treat you like shit.” Fiona was quiet, unsure where she could possibly tread in the conversation.</p><p>“I mean, hey!” Ian cheered suddenly. “If we’re following the gay rights timeline then we’re only… what? A couple away from mutant marriage and mutants in the army?”</p><p>He froze when he heard a sniffle from his sister, her bowed head shaking with her shoulders. Ian frowned, “Fi.”</p><p>Fiona looked up at him, her eyes wet. “I just… wish it wasn’t like that for you.”</p><p>Ian shrugged but when he saw the sorrow in Fiona’s eyes, he reached over to cradle her shoulder, pulling her into his side. Fiona hugged him, sniffling him into his shoulder. “Me too”, Ian said. “Fuck, me too, Fi. But I’m managing, I promise. I can handle this.”</p><p>The words felt like lies on his tongue, but he ignored it in favour of running a rand over Fiona’s hair.</p><p>Fiona sniffled into his shoulder and Ian grimaced at the feeling of her tears against his bare skin. He didn’t loosen his hold though.</p><p>Eventually she pulled away and wiped at her nose with her shirt sleeve, her other hand still stroking gently over his wrist. Ian chuckled, casting an eye to the patch of wetness of his shoulder. He could feel Fiona’s eyes on him as he concentrated, desperate to prove himself to his big sister.</p><p>He watched with satisfaction as his skin grew just slightly pinker, a sizzling sensation burning across his skin. Within seconds, faint steam passed through his skin and the heat grew intense. There was a faint hiss of evaporation before the remains of Fiona’s tears were gone.</p><p>Ian grinned, but was distracted when Fiona gasped.</p><p>He looked over at his sister and embarrassment swept over him.</p><p>Fiona was shaking out her hand, wincing. Ian looked down at the skin of his wrist that she had been touching and felt nauseous at the tell-tale redness there.</p><p>“Fuck, I’m sorry!”</p><p>Fiona shook her head, inspecting the skin of her palm. “It’s okay. Not your fault.”</p><p>Ian couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes. “It was exactly my fault, Fi.”</p><p>“No”, his older sister said, looking him dead in the eyes. “It’s not.” There was something in her tone that left no room for discussion and for not the first time, Ian was reminded of just how much of a mother his sister had been to him. No matter what Monica might be to him, she would never hold that kind of authority over him, and he would sure as hell never respect her like he did Fiona.</p><p>“Besides”, Fiona smirked, “Nothing a little aloe vera can’t fix, right?”</p><p>She was overly cheery but Ian didn’t call her out on it. Instead he just nodded.</p><p>Fiona seemed unsure how to proceed, her grip still tight around the wrist of her seared hand. She nodded to his shoulder, “You’re getting better at that though.”</p><p>Ian appreciated the sentiment but couldn’t find it in himself to pretend to agree. Instead, he frowned down at his wrist as the redness slowly began to fade. Fiona followed his eyes.</p><p>“Only wish I healed like that too”, she teased.</p><p>This time Ian did smile. “Comes in handy I guess.”</p><p>“You think it’s a <em>thing</em>?”</p><p>Ian shook his head. “Probably just my body getting used to the constant burning thing”, he said, smiling ruefully.</p><p>Fiona nodded. Eventually she stood up, gesturing to her hand. “Should probably go deal with this. But I’ll see you in the morning, yeah?”</p><p>Ian couldn’t help but snort; did she think he would be making a run for it in the night? Then again, he thought sombrely, she probably wouldn’t put it past him.</p><p>“Yeah. See you tomorrow.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hope you guys liked it!</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I tried to make this first chapter start setting up the world these guys live in, without bombarding you all with a ton of exposition and spoon-fed explanations. This might be a strange new AU mutant world, but this is a romance! ;)<br/>This chapter is mostly setting up their separate POVs as well as hinting at their powers. I didn't want to overload with a ton about the in-world lore or exposition but don't worry, it'll come!</p><p>Let me know what you think!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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